


Forever Now

by ttfan111robstar1



Series: Baby Bird [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a good dad, Comfort, Cuddling, Dick needs a hug, Feedings, Fluff, Gen, Love, Non-Sexual Age Play, Parental Acceptance, Secrets, stuffed animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttfan111robstar1/pseuds/ttfan111robstar1
Summary: Dick has an unusual method of self-soothing when he gets too stressed to handle things. He struggles with it for fear of what Bruce may think of him. But when Bruce finds out, what happens is nowhere what he expected.Dick and Bruce fluff.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Baby Bird [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656484
Comments: 3
Kudos: 178





	Forever Now

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Coping Mechanisms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326100) by [futuristicjazzhands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuristicjazzhands/pseuds/futuristicjazzhands). 



As Dick Grayson stumbled into his Blüdhaven apartment, soaked and chilled to the bone by pouring rain, he could feel exhaustion settle into his bones. There was a difference between the feelings of being tired and feeling exhausted to him. _Tired_ could be cured with a shower, hot meal, and good night’s sleep. _Exhaustion_ was far more complex in that it demanded more from him. He may have to take tomorrow off of work if he didn’t feel better by morning. Exhaustion was his precursor to burnout, and he really had been burning the candle at both ends lately.

He tossed his keys into a bowl by the door, took off his jacket and shoes, and went to the bathroom immediately to shower. Stripping himself of his sopping wet clothes, he got into the steaming water and immediately felt better. As he stood, enjoying the water, he did an inventory of himself. He wasn’t hurt too badly. Mostly it was bruises today, which he knew would heal, but there was a four inch gash on his forearm that needed tending to. How a training exercise at the police academy could have gone that awry, he would never know.

He cleaned himself off, taking particular care with his wound, before he got out of the shower and dried off. Then, going to his bedroom, he threw on a comfortable sleep shirt and a pair of sweatpants, before his eyes fell on his nightstand drawer.

_Maybe I could... No, clean up the clothes before you do anything else._

And so he did. He threw his clothes in the washer, cleaned the small puddle of water made by them on the floor, and wiped off his shoes before tossing the towel in the hamper and going back to his room, eyes transfixed on the nightstand drawer.

He sat on the edge of the bed, having the same argument with himself he always had. Were things bad enough to warrant needing this? He thought about all the nights spent burning the candle at both ends, the time when he didn’t sleep for two days because he was working back to back to back to back, all the meals he missed. Yes, this was definitely an instance where this particular coping skill was needed. If only that made him feel better.

Every time he did this he made it a point to justify to himself why this was good for him. It really did help him cope better with the world around him. However, all the reasons he came up with seemed flimsy, paper thin, for what he was doing. Even if it did help him deal with the world around him, he couldn’t keep from recriminating himself for wanting it. His secret shame.

If Bruce or Alfred found out... He was sure they would never look at him the same way again. At the very least there would be laughter, perhaps disgust. He’d tried throwing it all away when those thoughts got to be too great, but always ended up buying it all back and more. It was a viscous cycle that refused to stop. Every time he tried to tell himself that it was okay, that nobody would ever know, a snide voice in his head liked to remind him that his father was the World’s Greatest Detective, who could read him like a book were he not careful. Every time it led to a panic attack that would send him to the nightstand drawer to calm down. It was one huge circle game.

Now, he opened up the drawer. In it lay several items, but most prominent was Zitka, his stuffed elephant given to him by his parents before their untimely end. He pulled out his old stuffed companion and gave it a tight hug. Of all the things this drawer held, Zitka was the only thing he knew he didn’t have to explain to anybody, and there was cashmere comfort in that. He hugged Zitka close, breathing in the lingering scents that had imprinted on her over the years. Zitka smelled just like home. Always had, always would.

Feeling a bit better already, he gathered a few of the other items from the drawer. He pulled the adult-sized pacifier to himself and went to the kitchen to rinse it off, before popping it in his mouth, beginning to suck on it. This oral fixation combined with the premature death of his family was perhaps the genesis of this coping skill. He’d never quite been able to keep from sucking his thumb all these years, and he always wished he could turn back time and make that moment in the circus different. The truth of it all was he simply hasn’t grown up all the way. Oh, he could function as an adult, still enjoyed doing adult things, but it was never a reflection of who he felt he was on the inside. This was as close to that as he would ever get.

He put a bottle on the counter, and filled it up with milk before going to warm it. Coping skill or not, he would have made himself warm milk tonight anyways. With rain sleeting down this way, it was the perfect night for it. When it was warm, he screwed on the nipple of the bottle and took it to the living room, setting it on the table.

A huge and plush throw blanket was draped over the back of the couch, saved for nights like these. He swaddled himself in the blanket before he turned on his TV and found a Disney movie. Today’s choice was Finding Nemo. The movie made him think of Bruce, and on a day like today when he was cold, tired, and in sore need of affection, it gave him comfort. Though Bruce was not, as a rule, affectionate with anybody, he could still remember Bruce giving him hugs after a hard day or cuddling him after a nightmare. He missed that now.

As the movie played on, he felt the exhaustion trying to take hold of him. He didn’t let it win completely, but it did manage to drag Dick to that hazy place in his mind where the line between sleep and wakefulness was getting thinner all the time.

* * *

Despite the pouring rain, one lone figure leapt from rooftop to rooftop near Blüdhaven. It was late, the prime time for The Batman to be out hunting villains. But, tonight he was far from home due to a benefit a few cities over. Bruce Wayne had given a speech, toasted champagne, and smiled for paparazzi, but it was all just a charade. He didn’t care about any of that. However, when he realized this would give him the chance to pass through Blüdhaven and see Dick, he’d gone along with it without complaint. Alfred had gone to the hotel a while ago to go to bed, leaving The Batman free to go see Nightwing.

When he arrived at Dick’s apartment- or more specifically his fire escape- he got under enough cover to where he could shed the clear outer layer that was currently protecting his costume from the rain. Then, opening a window and sliding through, he removed his cowl and shut the window. The window was their way of communication. If Dick left it unlocked, it meant he wasn’t in bed yet and to come in. If it was locked, Batman moved on. Since late night texting or calls were hazards to the job, this was the best way they could communicate. Particularly since Batman wasn’t able to visit in person that often.

Silent as ever, the caped crusader slunk through his adoptive son’s apartment, looking first in the bedroom but finding nothing. Then, when he could finally hear over the pounding of rain on the roof, he heard the sounds of a movie playing. Still kept to the sidelines, he saw Dick’s glossy black hair sticking out from the edge of the sofa, and was about to say something when a childish giggle stopped him.

He moved to get a better look at Dick and saw the bottle on the table, then the pacifier between his lips, then Zitka.

Of course Bruce knew about this. The question of how he could not know was ridiculous. Between sleeping with Zitka for years on end, an oral fixation that he tried (and failed) to hide, and Dick’s naturally bouncy and affectionate nature it wasn’t hard to figure out. He hadn’t said anything to Dick- of course he hadn’t- because he figured Dick would have come to him on his own when he was comfortable doing so. It was the first time Bruce had seen him so uninhibited, though. The sight made the ghost of a smile hint at his face.

As the line between sleep and wakefulness blurred itself, Dick found himself in a blissful state of unreality. When he turned his head a little and saw Bruce standing there, he was certain he was dreaming. A dreamy, half lucid grin stretched out on his face as he reached for his father- or at least, the image of him.

“Daddy.” It was a soft coo.

Bruce had seen this many times before. Dick had made that gesture to him after a nightmare when he was desperate for a hug or to be held. By God did Bruce want to hold him. After all the falling outs they’d had over the years, he needed it like a dehydrated man needed water. However, he was not unaware that Dick may have thought this a dream. Breaking that illusion might not go over so well. But, he thought he could remedy that.

Bruce gathered his son in his arms and hoisted him onto his hip, the way he had when he was nine. “Hey there, Dickie Bird.” Bruce said softly.

There was a moment of disconnect for Dick, that split second where he realized that Bruce was really here and holding him. The moment of realization dawned. _He hadn’t locked the window._ When it passed, he felt his face screwing up as he prepared to cry. It was his worst fear come to life. He couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down his face.

Bruce noticed, of course he did, and began to hush him, bobbing and weaving around the room as he’d done with Dick after a nightmare. “It’s alright, chum. There’s no need to cry. I’m here.” He soothed.

Dick’s grief quickly turned to confusion. Why wasn’t Daddy mad or laughing or disgusted? He didn’t understand.

Bruce caught his confused gaze as he walked with his son. “I’ve known for years, Dick. I just thought that you would tell me when you were ready to and if you wanted to. It doesn’t change anything between us.” Bruce promised.

Bruce was rewarded with Dick slumping into him, something he knew only happened when Dick finally felt safe after a nightmare or a frightening experience. Bruce felt relieved. He had worried this might push the two of them further apart, but it was apparently not the case. Thank goodness.

When Dick had cried himself out, Bruce sat down on the couch with his son in his lap, just taking a moment to enjoy the quiet. Dick shifted to be more comfortable and accidentally hit his arm on the couch. When Dick let out a low whine, Bruce turned his attention to him.

“What is it, Dick?” Came the soft question.

“Daddy. Owie.” He said softly, tiredly, and held up his arm for inspection.

Bruce inspected the gash. Four inch wound, maybe a quarter of an inch deep. Fresh. Not life threatening, but certainly painful. Well cleaned. He thought about asking Dick how that happened, but that was pointless. He wasn’t likely to get much out of Dick in this state to begin with, but trying to name one injury when you have countless others is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Bruce wouldn’t try to bark up that tree. He knew better than that.

“I’m sorry, Dickie. Did you hit your arm on the couch?” He asked softly, rubbing the uninjured part of it soothingly.

Dick gave a little sniffle and nodded. Then: “Daddy? Kisses?”

Bruce could say he would have been surprised by the request, but at this point nothing about Dick really surprised him. He was such a naturally affectionate person that you didn’t have to be the world’s greatest detective to see that coming. Even though he wasn’t an an affectionate person, he would never deny his son anything he needed, and clearly Dick needed this. Gently, he pressed his lips to the wound and looked back up at Dick.

“Better?” He asked softly.

Dick looked pleased and happy, nodding, before making himself more comfortable in Bruce’s lap. Somehow- Bruce didn’t know how- Dick felt impossibly small in his arms. Maybe it was the way they were sitting and how it brought back old memories, maybe it was the circumstances of it all, but it suddenly seemed impossible to Bruce that Dick was the same man he had met with for lunch earlier in the month. A feeling of warmth coursed through him, the same one he had felt all those years ago with the grieving nine year old boy who had just lost his parents. A need to protect, to defend, welled up inside of him. So powerful. So awe-inspiring. It nearly took his breath away.

Dick, meanwhile, had busied himself with the ends of Daddy’s cape. They were fun to fiddle with. After a few minutes, he caught sight of the bottle on the coffee table, and let out a small whine.

“What is it, Chum?” He asked softly.

Dick let out a small whimper and reached for the bottle on the coffee table. He was just a hair shy of being able to grab it, but he would have fallen off Daddy’s lap.

“Want the bottle, Dickie?” He asked. Dick nodded, pleased that Daddy had understood him. Bruce had grabbed it from the table and- on instinct, shifted Dick in his lap so he could drink more comfortably. While very few things about Dick surprised him, he’d had plenty of moments where he’d surprised himself. This was certainly one of them, considering he’d never actually fed a bottle to anybody before. Paternal instinct, he supposed. He took only a brief moment to halt in his surprise before he began to feed his son.

Dick enjoyed bottles. It wasn’t so much the babyish nature that drew him to them- because a Sippy cup would have had the same effect and been less work to clean- but rather the need for _focus_ it brought. He had to focus on getting the milk out, so his mind didn’t have room to worry or get anxious. It was one of the few things in his life that he could honestly say allowed him to not have to think about anything at all. Nursing it was a comfort, but now it was an entirely different kind of comfort because Daddy was here.

Bruce was a lot of things to Dick. Father, mentor, friend, teacher, cheerleader, protector, hero, and inspiration. But the one thing Bruce had always been and would always be first and foremost was a harbinger of safety. The arms that had held him as a child, the lips that were always able to give comforting words after a nightmare, the heartbeat that had put him to sleep on so many long dark nights. No matter how much they had fought and argued over the years, no matter how many falling outs they’d had, Dick had never once questioned if those arms would still be there to piece him together again when things were hard. He knew Bruce would always be there for him, and this moment proved it. He’d never felt so safe and cared for in all his life as he did right now.

Bruce himself was, frankly, stunned. Never in a million years did he think he would be doing something like this. He wasn’t a soft, touchy-feely guy who could do things like this at the drop of a hat. He was cold and calculating with an iron will and walls around his heart that were stainless steel. He was _The Batman_ , for crying out loud! He could make Criminals surrender with a glare and knock out twenty goons in under a minute. That was who he was. A rough and tumble guy who thirsted for justice and never let anything get to him.

And yet, here he was.

He supposed Dick had started that change in him all those years ago. When he’d become an adoptive father, he’d opened himself to a whole new host of emotions he hadn’t been ready for. He’d felt fear and joy and worry and love in entirely redefined ways since Dick had come into his life. Dick had opened up a newer, softer side in him, and he figured that paved the way for this moment to come to pass. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Until Dick had come along he had thought himself destined to be a loner. He would date women to keep up appearances, but he never felt understood by anybody, even Alfred at times. But then Dick came along, and he understood. He understood _so perfectly_ that he went down the same path Bruce had all those years ago. The path of justice. In the moments following Dick’s choice, after saving Tony Zucco from falling to his death when the man had murdered his parents, Bruce had finally come to the realization that he wasn’t alone anymore. Finally, somebody understood _exactly_ what he was trying to achieve and didn’t judge him for it. There was nobody on earth who understood him the way his son did, and he cherished that above all else.

The bottle was soon empty, and Dick was nearly asleep in his arms. It seemed perfectly natural to press a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead. It was a moment of tenderness in their stormy lives, perfectly peaceful for once. It seemed the right thing to do, as Dick gave a contented sigh and snuggled deeper into him, grabbing a fistful of his costume.

“Mine Dada.” Came the soft, lilting sigh.

“Yours.” Bruce agreed softly, before humming to Dick to help him take that final step into sleep. His son’s breathing evened out, and he was asleep within minutes.

Bruce stared at the cherubic face of his son, so innocent and much more peaceful in sleep. Maneuvering himself carefully, he got out his phone and turned it to silent before texting Alfred that he would be staying with Dick for the night.

The rain pounded on the roof of the small apartment, making everyone outside cold or chilled. But inside, all was warm and right with the world. Bruce Wayne leaned back against the couch pillows, and shut his eyes, feeling a rare moment of peace touch his heart. In all the chaos of his daily life, he sometimes forgot what he was fighting for. Moments like this. He held Dick just a bit closer, and smiled, a genuinely happy smile, before he fell asleep, content with the precious weight in his arms.


End file.
